The Ghosts of Flat 221B
by Decisions Are Hard
Summary: Lestrade's fully furnished and inexpensive new flat in central London is haunted by ghosts who firmly insist that they aren't ghosts. He's not sure if he believes them or if he's having a breakdown and hallucinating everything. Either way he's got two new flat mates he wishes would just give up the ghost and leave him and his normal life alone.
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

Of all the things Gregory Lestrade expected to be wrong with his new flat finding two ghosts haunting it was not anywhere on the list of potential problems. He could deal with an infestation, he could deal with the neighbors being involved with illegal activities (he could just have them arrested), he could deal with bad plumbing, he could deal with just about anything but ghosts. But here he was sipping tea on his couch in his pajamas watching two partially transparent glowing men argue.

He wasn't sure how exactly it happened he just knew that he got up to get a drink and suddenly he was face to face with a dark haired man in a dramatic coat. Things went hazy around then because the next thing he knew he was sitting on the couch with a cup of tea in his hands and an orange shock blanket draped over his shoulders. He looked down at the tea noting that it was very hot and the slight pain from his fingers told him he was not dreaming. The two chairs that occupied the living room now had two transparent men glaring at each other in them. In the green modern chair sat the one that he'd run into, in the old and comfortable looking red chair was a short transparent man with light hair. They were hard to make out as looking at them, well the closest comparison he had was when he tried on his great aunt Eleanor's glasses and discovered that she had horrible vision.

"Nice of you to join us Lestrade." The dark haired one drawled his voice deep for someone so skinny.

"You know my name?" He asked blankly his lips beginning to work even before his brain could.

"Yeah Mrs. Hudson told us." The light haired one said in a voice that was not deep or menacing enough to belong to the stereotypic ghost. "I'm John and that's Sherlock." John said gesturing from himself to the ghost in the other chair.

"Did Mrs. Hudson make us tea?" Lestrade asked sounding strangely absent as he tried not to focus on the fact that he was probably having a psychotic break. "She makes tea for me all the time."

"No she doesn't." Sherlock snapped sulking in his seat. "You've been drinking John's tea."

"So I've been drinking ghost tea?" Lestrade asked his face a shade of white that would have looked more at home on the ghosts faces.

"No you've been drinking John's tea. There are no such things as ghosts." Sherlock snapped and Lestrade expected the whole haunted thing to take off and go crazy, but nothing happened. The lights didn't flicker and nothing shook but his hands, no flashes of light or anything. The only haunted thing that was happening was the mostly transparent man glaring at him from his seat on the green chair.

It seemed that the absence of shaking furniture and flickering lights gave him courage because he replied just as snappily. "If it looks like a ghost and acts like a ghost it's a ghost, now why are you two haunting my flat?"

"We're not haunting anything! It was our flat first, in fact it still is we're still paying the rent." Sherlock said as he sulked his arms crossed as he slouched in the chair.

"Technically Mycroft is." John piped up from his seat in the other chair and Lestrade turned to see the less aggressive ghost sipping his tea.

"And he's right we're not ghosts but someone decided to touch a dangerous machine he found on the other side of a door clearly marked do not enter. We passed out and when we woke up we were like this." John swept his arm out. "It's actually not that bad though there are a few things I miss about being normal."

"It was for the case!" Sherlock shouted, looking like a child throwing a tantrum.

Lestrade just barely managed to resist dragging his palm down his face and looked between the two of them. "Are you two the reason I can't replace any of the furniture or get rid of that weird cow head?"

"Yeah. We're quite attached to the way the place looks. Besides if this happened to you would you want some stranger going around throwing out all of your stuff?" John said calm as could be. "I'm surprised though most people complain about the skull before they mention the cow." He gestured to the cow skull wearing headphones on the wall.

"No I suppose not." Greg said feeling like Rod Sterling was going to walk out at any second and welcome him into his stay in the Twilight Zone. "I'm not moving out this is all I can afford right now so if you're planning on scaring me off it's not going to work."

Sherlock scowled at him, at least he thought he scowled it was hard to tell with them. "If I wanted you gone you'd be gone already. You bring your work home with you and it is a welcome distraction to have something to do."

"Sherlock's a detective. He can help you with your cases." John piped up. "It will give him something to do other than complain."

Greg decided to ignore that for the moment, not sure if he wanted to deal with the repercussions of telling the angrier ghost no. "So how does this work?"

"There are theories but without any hard evidence a definite conclusion is hard to come to." Sherlock began but he was interrupted by John.

"I think he means how do two..." John hesitated for a moment looking like he had to physically force the word to form. "Ghosts and one human share a two bedroom flat."

"Yeah am I taking someone's bed or were you two together when you were still alive?" Greg said gesturing between the two.

"No." John spat waving his hands in the universal signal for no way in hell. "Sherlock and I were never a couple no matter what Mrs. Hudson says."

"You're sleeping in my room. You can keep it I prefer the couch." Sherlock shrugged sounding unconcerned.

"Okay good to know." Greg said as he looked between the two of them. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"Throw out the fridge, the microwave, the stove any anything else you cook on or with. Just trust me on that." John said seriously.

"So I have to furnish the flat that I got because it came fully furnished because the ghost that's haunting my flat told me to?" Greg snapped.

"No just the kitchen and unless you want nightmares it's better not to ask why." John said as he took another sip of his tea.

"I'm going to bed." Greg said flatly as he stood letting the blanket fall from his shoulders as he walked into his room and locked the door. He got into the bed not even bothering to move the covers and stared at the ceiling wondering if he was going to wake up and find that this was all some nightmare from having one too many cups of the stations coffee.

_This wasn't in the Under Construction portion of my profile I was just bored._


	2. Chapter 2

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

The next day there was no sign of the two _ghosts_ that had invaded his flat last night. There was no orange blanket on the floor, no dirty teacups left out, and no transparent glowing men to be seen. He was prepared to dismiss it all as a dream just his mind running away with him after the stress of the move, the divorce, and his new job. He'd even begun to forget what happened until he was sent out with a team to investigate a potential homicide. He'd arrived on the scene to see some poor bloke lying face down in a pile of rubbish. He put on the blue suit and booties he was forced to wear and went to oversee the scene with Detective Inspector Ormond. He looked at the body, listened and watched as the forensic techs did their work. He listened as they called out the cause of death. "Five stab wounds to the chest, the man died of asphyxiation, chocked on his own blood." But when he went to talk to Anderson things began to get strange.

He hadn't even gotten a word out when it started. At first it was just a tingle, a slight buzz of static that made the hair on his arms stand up straight. Then the buzz traveled to his ears and he heard static, like snow from the old television he'd never gotten around to throwing out. The static buzzed in his ears getting louder and louder and he got more and more annoyed with it. He pressed his fingers to his temples the static making a migraine build up as the light in the alley which was quite dim suddenly became too intense. He took a step back mumbling an apology when the static cut off just long enough for him to hear the word 'buttons' before it started up again.

"You alright Lestrade?" Anderson backed away from the paling man not wanting to be in the line of fire if his new coworker got sick and threw up whatever it was that he'd eaten earlier today.

"Fine." Lestrade said sounding like a boxer that had been given a blow to the stomach from an opponent twice his size.

The buzz was getting worse and better at the same time. It would stop every few seconds to get out a syllable or two, even a word at times. So far he'd heard. "Buttons, murder, obvious, Anderson, Idiot, head, affair, are, listening, was, blind, daft, go, her, late, wife." None of it made any sense and he had the feeling that if it didn't stop soon he'd be on the floor unconscious.

Anderson pulled him away from the body leading him to where he could lose his lunch without disturbing the evidence. He put his hands on his knees struggling to hold himself up as the assault on his senses continued. The words were becoming cleared but he was beyond the point of caring. He was in too much pain to question his sanity or wonder just what he'd done to deserve this. When as sudden as it had started the buzzing was gone. He collapsed against the brick wall of the alley in relief as the buzzing stopped and he could hear Sally asking him if he was okay.

"Is it a migraine?" He heard her whisper. "I have some medicine if it is."

"No I think it's over now." He said pressing the heel of his head to his head as the pain leached out of him like air through a holey balloon. "Thank you though."

He sat there the chill from the street seeping into his jeans. He was being watched and he was embarrassed and a bit annoyed that almost everyone was looking at him like he was pitiful. He stood angrily the anger taking enough edge off the pain for him to stand and walk without falling. He made his way back to the squad car to sit down for a moment on a surface that was just slightly softer than the asphalt. His skin still felt like he'd worn wool socks on a thick carpet and stood next to a metal pole, but he had the feeling that given time it would stop.

He pulled out his notebook from his jacket pocket ready to jot down some notes so the day wouldn't be a total loss when he saw writing that wasn't his own in the journal. He read through it his face getting paler and paler with each word. "The button on the ground next to the body does not belong to the victim. The buttons may be the same size but the colour doesn't even match. The victims are obviously darker. This is a murder it couldn't be any more obvious. Someone make Anderson shut up he's an idiot nothing more in his head than his affair with Sally. Lestrade can't you see it? Are you even listening to me? The man that was murdered the killer was his mistress. Now go and you might be able to catch her before it's too late. Revenge on the husband wasn't enough. She's going after the wife."

He closed his journal and put it away in his pocket. This was way too strange for him and he was beginning to remember last night when he dreamt that his apartment was haunted. His stomach churned as without his consent a question rooted if self in his brain and began to overtake his thoughts until it was the only thing on his mind and it began breeding more and more questions. What if it wasn't just a dream and he really was being haunted by ghosts. Ghosts that it seemed were no longer content to stay in his flat and now sought him out at crime scenes to leave him gibberish about who murdered the victim. Did ghosts talk to each other about how they died? Is that how one of them, he was guessing the tall one the words were too deep for the small one he remembered, knew it was the mistress? Would he be haunted by another ghost if he didn't stop the impending murder of the wife? Was his ex-wife right that his endless hours working were beginning to erode his sanity?

He bit down on the questions. He'd deal with everything later when he felt less like he was going to lose his mind or his lunch whichever came first. He stood and made his way back to DI Ormond hoping that the man would humor him for the sake of his sanity. He cleared his throat and the grey haired perpetually angry looking man leveled him with a look that was surprisingly less harsh than he usually received.

"Has someone been sent to inform his family?" He asked hoping that he sounded strong and not weak like he felt he was.

"We'll send someone who isn't on scene to inform them." Ormond said before he turned back to watch the techs.

"Something seems off about the buttons." Lestrade said somehow unable to stop himself from saying something that he thought would help.

"We'll see to it later Lestrade now you should go somewhere where you won't contaminate the scene." Ormond said cutting off anything else Lestrade might have had to say.

Lestrade nodded and walked away just wanting to collapse in his bed and wake up to find that he was dreaming, but somehow he didn't think he'd get that luxury again.

_If you ask questions I will try my best to answer them and I don't mind getting questions so feel free to ask away. Sherlock and John are more along the line of mutants than ghosts. They have problems interacting with things depending on the area that they are in and the people they are around. Maybe they will maybe they won't get their bodies back only time will tell and yes Lestrade is new to London. Thank yous to everyone, who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited._


	3. Chapter 3

_I do not own this show at all. Now that that is out of the way please enjoy the story._

Greg considered himself a reasonable man and for the most part he was, but holding his recently haunted journal he was beginning to feel anything resembling reason being torn away from him. He could pass what happened last night as a dream brought on by late nights and too much junk food. But the notebook was proof physical solid evidence that he was not losing his mind and that right now he was being haunted by not one but two ghosts. It was impossible to deny it now Lestrade thought as he made his way through the crowded streets. The encounter earlier with the buzzing disembodied voice, the writing in his journal, and the migraine were enough to make him a believer. He was living in a haunted flat with two ghosts who were now following him onto crime scenes. It was all he could do not to break out in hysterics on the street. It was official his life was an episode of the Twilight Zone!

Seeing no reason to return to the haunted flat yet he walked into a pub and ordered the cheapest thing they had. Drowning one's problems in cheap beer was a bad solution but as the Ghostbusters were fictional it seemed to be the only solution left to him. He couldn't leave Baker Street. He could barely afford living there as it was and there was nothing else he could afford on his budget. Besides as strange as his flat was he liked it, loved it even. He liked that it was filled with an eclectic assortment of junk and oddities that made it look like the kind of home a modern day mad scientist would own. If they remade Frankenstein again he could think of no better place to film it than 221B Baker Street. The only real problem he had with it was that it was already occupied and living in a haunted house never turned out well for the living.

His beer was set in front of it and he took a sip wincing at the taste. He contemplated eating some of the cheap pub food but set the menu down after a casual glance over its contents. No nothing was too appealing at the moment. He took another sip hoping that somehow it would taste better after the second sip but the beer continued to taste so bland and flavorless that he suspected it was being watered down. He was tempted to just leave when a woman sat in the stool across from him and he had to admit that she might just have been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was also entirely out of place in the worn down pub. She was dressed for business and he had no doubt that whatever she did she made more in one day than he made a month.

"Gregory Lestrade current address 221B Baker Street." The woman said coolly and Greg felt something like ice water collect in his gut. "My employer wishes to have a word with you."

He gripped his glass tighter partially from the shock of a stranger knowing who he was and partially because whatever happened to him earlier was happening again. The hair on his arms and neck stood at attention as the buzzing noise and sensation flooded his veins and settled in his ears. It was better than the last time, it almost felt like the static and words were not as insistent as they were at the crime scene. It still left him with a headache but nothing like the migraine that made him think his brain was about to liquefy he'd experienced the first time. Sounds and eventually words broke through the buzz of static leaving behind a much shorter message than last time. "Go." "Safe." He pulled out his journal and found the new message under the old one in entirely different handwriting. "You should go, it's safe."

What they could do to him while just communicating was horrible and he'd hate to see what would happen if he actually provoked them to true violence. So he decided to go along with it, no need to make the ghosts angry. He stood and let the woman lead him out of the pub after leaving the money for his drink on the bar. She stopped in front of the open door of a big black car gestured for him to get into it. Ignoring every instinct saying that this was a bad idea he slid into the car. His first thought once the door was closed was that this was perhaps the most expensive car he'd ever had the pleasure of sitting in. Everything seemed to lean toward luxury and if he was going to his death at least he was comfortable.

He looked at her a couple of times and wondered what the hell he was doing. He was just following the word of a ghost; if he kept this up he might become a ghost. He had no idea who her employer was or why they wanted to talk to him and he wasn't sure if he wanted to find out. Then again he might still be back at the pub sipping his drink blandly as he lost his marbles. He pressed his forehead with a hand trying to sooth away the growing headache.

They pulled to a stop at a building that looked run down nonetheless Lestrade diligently followed Anthea through the front door. Whatever he'd been expecting it wasn't this. The building on the inside looked brand new and very posh everything reeking of money. The only thing that was dingy or unappealing was the outside. He looked around slowly taking in the strange atmosphere of this secret luxury house as Anthea led him to a large oak door. She opened it and stood aside to let him in. He walked into the room taking note of the roaring fireplace, the large oak desk, and the leather chair that was facing a wall entirely covered in books, specifically law books. It was the only chair in the room and Lestrade got the feeling he should stand in front of the desk. Figuring he'd gone this far following the word of a ghost he did.

The chair turned around and a man with a bland politicians face glared out at him with eyes cold as ice as he looked at him with an expression that was only barely above disdain. "Sergeant Gregory Lestrade."

Greg frowned. "Have we met before?"

"No, but as you and I will be seeing a lot of each other I felt it prudent to make myself known to you." The man said sounding pompous and bored.

Greg didn't see how he could have anything to do with this man unless he was some sort of criminal looking to have a policeman in his pocket. "Who are you?"

"Mycroft Holmes. You've recently moved in with my brother Sherlock and his flat mate Dr. Watson." The man's _I am better than you_ tone continued.

"The ghosts?" Greg asked skepticism practically leaping off of him.

The man sighed as though he'd expected him to say something stupid and he'd just proved him right. "Yes if you wish to refer to them with that banal term. I have an offer for you one that should prove to be mutually beneficial."

Lestrade crossed his arms over his chest. "And that would be?"

"I need you to stay at 221B Baker Street." Mycroft said in a way that was somehow bland and overdramatic. "I'm in need of someone to keep my brother out of trouble. He is in dire need of an outlet for his energy and intelligence and he is fascinated by mystery. Allow Sherlock and Dr. Watson to accompany you to work and not only will I reward you handsomely I can promise you that a promotion will not be far off."

"How can you promise that?" Lestrade said suspicion turning the offer sour.

Mycroft laughed in a way that sounded like he was mocking him. "With Sherlock Holmes consulting for you I won't need to lift a finger."

_Thank yous to everyone, who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. Hijacking Lestrade's life is a given but will they be able to fix themselves? As for the headache issue that will be addressed in the next chapter._


End file.
